


Raise A Glass of Wine

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Durin's Day, Encouragement, Epic Friendship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Feasting, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Joyful, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Big Happy Family, Toasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year to the day since Thorin and Company entered Erabor, they celebrate Durin's Day as honored lords and dearest friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise A Glass of Wine

Thorin was a bit nervous. Of course he would never admit it to anyone but his closest friends, but this was his first Durin’s Day as King under the Mountain and he wasn’t quite sure how he would go about it.

His past Durin’s Day celebrations were ones for which he had meticulously counted each copper, wondering if he could risk a splurge. Now he had wealth beyond compare and the question in Thorin’s mind was how could he keep it small?

He wanted something that involved only his Company—the ones who had stayed faithful and offered their all for him. It was a year to the day since Thorin had first turned Thráin’s key in the lock of Erabor. He wanted to honor that memory of awe and triumph, that and the fierce staunchness they’d shown in the Great Battle.

So it was that Thorin found himself standing before a mirror in his chamber, anxiously fluffing the fur on his fine coat. Dwalin stood off to the side, an amused smile battling his somber Captain-of-Guard expression.

“Thorin,” Dwalin said at last, his amusement almost audible in his voice, “I think you’re doing it wrong.”

Thorin whirled, aghast at Dwalin’s words. “What are you talking about? This is how I’ve always done it!”

Dwalin nodded. “Yes, I know. But you’re still doing it wrong. Here...” Dwalin stepped forward and began running his fingers deeply through the fur, spiking it at different angles. When he was finished, Thorin turned toward the mirror and couldn’t help but gasp in astonished excitement.

“Dwalin, how did you—?!”

“Been watching your technique for years and thought up ways to improve it,” Dwalin admitted.

Thorin laughed breathlessly at the perfection of it. “Thank you!”

There was a knock at the door and Thorin looked to find Bifur creeping hesitantly across the threshold.

“My friend,” Thorin greeted him courteously. He thought of any member of the Company as his friend and had no qualms about telling them this.

Bifur nodded a greeting and began gesturing in iglishmêk. _My boys are busy readying themselves, so I wanted to ask your opinion. It is your celebration after all...I was wondering if I seem suitable?_

Eyeing Bifur up and down, Thorin thought his burnt-orange robes looked acceptable, but there was something else wrong. Oh.

Dwalin noticed it too. “The clothes look fine, Bifur. It’s just the...” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

Bifur’s eyes went up and he sighed mournfully when he saw the condition of his lordly circlet. _Always it seems askew and ugly with that—_ He stopped signing abruptly and slumped against the doorframe.

“Bifur,” Thorin began as he approached. “The crookedness is easily fixed and it doesn’t seem ugly because it’s on _your_ head. You’re a Lord of Erabor and you look it completely.” Very carefully he reached around the axe blade in Bifur’s forehead and tilted the circlet back into its proper position.

The eldest Broadbeam was silent for a moment before he clasped Thorin’s arm in thanks.

“ _Mê thane_ ,” he whispered gravely. Thorin didn’t understand Bifur’s ancient Tongue, but he heard the respect and gratitude in his voice.

Balin appeared suddenly. “Ah, you’re ready, laddie,” he said, beaming at Thorin.

“Durin’s beard, Balin, my eyes are fooling me!” Thorin gasped. “Are you taller?”

Balin rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s saying that. It’s this coat that Dwalin insisted I wear. All the fur...” He gestured to his shoulders, the fur coating them strikingly dark against the white of his beard.

“It’s nice,” Thorin assured him quickly.

“That’s right, brother,” Dwalin agreed with a smirk. “You finally look tall enough for me to use your head as an armrest.”

Balin doubled his fists and took a menacing step toward his brother. “Why, I ought to—”

“Now, now,” Thorin soothed. “Keep that strength for the drinking, Balin.”

Balin scowled at Dwalin. “I may look small, but I’m bigger on the inside. I can hold more ale.”

Dwalin waggled his brows. “Do I see a challenge?”

“You’ll be seeing _double_ soon enough,” Balin vowed. “That I can assure you!”

Thorin sighed and shook his head. “Sibling rivalry...”

Bofur appeared next. “Th’ Company’s gatherin’! Are ye slowpokes goin’ t’ join us or—oh!” Taking on a more respectful tone, he bowed before Thorin and murmured, “M’ King. Will ye honor th’ Company with yer presence?”

“Of course,” Thorin consented with not a smile, but a grin.

=

The feast was a grand one, no matter that it was only thirteen who sat at the table. Thorin almost lost his manners in the trance induced by Bombur’s food; he managed to eat more than most in the Company—even his ravenous nephews—and still had room for drink afterward.

Thorin’s glass clinked as he tapped his Kingly ring against it, catching the attention of the others. “My friends,” he began. “I cannot tell you how honored I am that you’ve gathered here with me today.” His eyes shifted to the wine in his goblet—crimson red it was, reflecting the light. “The wine we’ve poured is red, in honor of the blood we and others shed to fight for this Kingdom.” Thorin lifted his drink. “I toast to Erabor.”

All at once Dwalin stood, his shadow cast over the table as he rumbled, “I toast to her King.” Thorin paused just before the wine reached his lips. The Company’s faces were solemn with agreement.

Balin stood also. “I toast to the journey made.”

Fíli rose next. “I toast to my family.”

Kíli followed immediately. “I toast to keeping promises.”

Thorin watched in awe as a steady rhythm appeared. Each member of the Company rose to their feet and gave a toast.

Óin announced,  “I toast to our perseverance.”

Glóin declared, “I toast to sticking together.”

Bombur proclaimed, “I toast to close gatherings.”

Bofur professed, “I toast t’ beatin’ hardship.”

Bifur signed out, _I toast to caring for each other_.

Dori stated, “I toast to regaining honor.”

Ori piped up, “I toast to learning wisdom.”

Nori complained, “I toast to the end of toasts! Can we drink it now?!”

This brought laughs all around the table and they did as Nori suggested, tipping back their drinks with the ease of close friendship. Thorin sat in satisfaction, watching the inevitable activities that ensued. Glóin managed to burp out an impressive sentence in Khuzdûl, Bofur danced a hilarious jig in his lordly robes, and Balin fulfilled his oath of drinking Dwalin to the floor.

When he returned to his room late that night, stuffed to the brim and slightly tipsy, Thorin decided that this was his finest Durin’s Day.

He changed into his nightclothes and laid his Crown on his dresser. Looking down at the last bottle of wine he’d procured from Bombur, Thorin considered all the things his Company had toasted to. Friends and family. Perseverance. Learning wisdom. Beating hardship.

Thorin smiled slightly into the dim, wrapped a hand round the bottle, and had another drink just for the sake of it.

 


End file.
